Up in Flames
by blacksand1
Summary: If you do not wish to lose me, then remember me. Preserve my history, teach our people of what came before, hold onto the past, and I will be with you always. Though you won't see me, I'll be there. Rated T for safety


_Nothing is mine._

_He remembered the day she left. He did not remember it well, but he remembered it all the same. He had been in the threshold of a grand marble temple, but she had been right outside, being whipped about by the sandy winds. He was sobbing into her skirt, and she was just looking down at him with a sad expression on her weary face. _

_"Come now, Gupta," she said softly, "There's no need for tears." She got to her knees and embraced him as he cried uncontrollably._

_"But I don't want you to go, Ummu!" he cried, inconsolable. She tried not to flinch at her son speaking _that _tongue. _

_"We will see each other again, my son. One day, we will," she whispered, gripping him tighter. His sobs lessened in intensity, but the tears went on regardless down his tanned cheeks._

_"Why do you have to go?" he hiccuped. _

_"… It's something you'll understand when you're older," she replied hesitantly. And then, she got an idea. She pulled out so she was looking the young boy directly in the eye. _

_"Gupta, listen to me," she said sternly, and her son obeyed without question. "If you do not wish to lose me, then remember me. Preserve my history, teach our people of what came before, hold onto the past, and I will be with you always. Though you won't see me, I'll be there. Can you promise me that you'll remember, Gupta?" _

_He nodded; "I… I won't forget you, Ummu!" She hugged him again with a small, melancholy smile, and his sobs started anew. _

_"That's right, my little desert fox," she chuckled warmly. "Remember one thing above all else. Remember, I love you more than the Gods, and nothing can ever change that. Goodbye, Gupta." _

_With a billow of her cloak, she was on her feet and walking into the sandstorm. She disappeared, and from that day on, he was not Gupta. He was Egypt. _

Thousands of years later, Egypt let out a war cry as his people ran through the streets. Fire lit the skies of Cairo as everyone screamed out for Mubarak to fall, and Egypt was screaming along with them. Every generation needed their own revolution, and this was the one he'd been waiting for. Thirty years. Thirty _long _years under that autocratic ruler. It was enough to make a man snap. It made a nation snap, in this case.

Egypt grinned as he ran alongside the revolutionaries through the streets, trying to remember the last time his people did something like this, and when he had actually wanted to go along with it as well. It was almost beautiful, but- just like America and nearly everyone else- Egypt was secretly _very very frightened_. What would come _after _Mubarak fell? What would take his place? He had felt untapped Islamic rage every now and again, but he didn't feel it with all of his heart- would those people take over.

He shuddered- he didn't want to end up an insane radical like the daughter of Persia, or- even worse- an even _crazier _dictatorship like South Korea's sister. Everyone was afraid this was what he'd become, and though he wanted to declare that he wouldn't, he knew it wasn't up to him. He was the will of the people and the will of the government, and now that the people had hold of his reigns he'd have to deal with whatever they decided.

He just hoped they'd make the right choice-

Wait.

Wait.

_Wait_.

Immediately Egypt stopped in his tracks and turned around to the building on his left. It was completely engulfed in flames, making it difficult to recognize, but the minute he saw the people strewn about on the steps, something clicked. And when that something _did _click, only one thing rang through his mind.

_Mother…!_

That had been a museum! There had been artifacts in there from his mother's time! When did this- Who- Egypt forgot all about the revolt right then and there and began to run towards the torched museum, but he was grabbed by the shoulder before he could get too close.

"Mister Egypt, where are you going?" Egypt turned over his shoulder- one of the leaders of the revolt had him by the shoulder (Egypt couldn't be bothered to remember which one), looking worried and rather disturbed by Egypt's sudden detour.

Immediately Egypt smacked his hand away and shouted, "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS? WHO DID THIS?"

"It doesn't matter now, Mister Egypt, we have to keep-" the leader was silenced by his country's allegory grabbing him by the collar.

"DOESN'T MATTER? THIS IS MY MOTHER'S LEGACY! AND IT'S BEING _DESTROYED!_" Egypt roared. He took a moment to stare into the leader's eyes, and after a few moments only saw shock and mild fear- he didn't know anything about this. The middle-eastern nation slowly let go of him and turned back to the burning museum.

In a way, he could _feel _it happening- the heads being ripped off of priceless mummies, statues being broken, artifacts that were 'lucky' enough to have gold in them being taken to be sold to the highest bidder on the black market… every piece of his mother's life he had put back together was being ripped apart.

He had promised to remember her, to keep her memory alive so she would always be with him! He had promised to hold on, but someone was trying to take everything he had worked for away from him.

_Can you promise you'll always remember, Gupta?_

Nothing seemed to matter anymore. There were no protests, there was no Mubarak, all of that seemed far away as he watched the fire burn into the night. He was no longer the Arab Republic of Egypt, no longer even the people's image of Egypt. He was just Gupta Muhammad Hassan, and his mother was leaving him all over again.

The leader hesitantly touched his shoulder and murmured that they should get going. Gupta didn't move, and he sat there until well into the morning, just wondering and wondering whether any of this was worth it anymore.

He wished his mother could tell him what to do.

_A/N: I wrote this because I've been following the Egyptian crisis like crazy (I'm referring to it as a revolution in here because I'm certain that's what it feels like to those involved (I know that's what it'd feel like to me)), and I was all in favor of taking down their autocratic leader… Until I saw what looters and other such vagabonds had done to the museums. I nearly cried. That is _history, _irreplaceable _history_. You do _not _commit such sacrilege, I don't care if you're in the middle of civil unrest. That is _your _cultural history, and it is up to you to protect it. I love ancient egyptian history, and to see it all destroyed like that makes me want to fly into a rage and punch something. _


End file.
